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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28754676">fairytale for a darker age</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandolinearts/pseuds/katheneverwrites'>katheneverwrites (mandolinearts)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M, also Thorin plays the harp, sitting around a fire and telling mildly scary fairytales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:13:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28754676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandolinearts/pseuds/katheneverwrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin waits until everyone has quieted, and then begins. "It is a tale about the finest harp ever made." He strums a chord, letting it float in the room until all sound disappears.<br/>---<br/>A quiet evening in Erebor, and an old Dwarven fairytale.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fairytale for a darker age</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilchen/gifts">Vilchen</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for viluš, whom i dragged into the bagginshield fandom kicking and screaming. love you, my friend. thank you to ia and annako for beta!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"- And then they lived happily ever after till the end of their days," Bilbo concludes his tale, taking a whiff of his pipe. He scans the room and sees his friends and family smiling back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was so nice," sighs Fíli, leaning backward. "Your tales are always hopeful, even when everything in them seems dark." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, exactly!" agrees Kíli, who seemed to be half asleep just moments ago. "You're a great storyteller, uncle." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the Company, who are sprawled among the pillows and armchairs of the royal apartment receiving room, voice their appreciation as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bilbo's heart does a happy little leap at being called 'uncle' (even though it's been years since his and Thorin’s wedding). He looks up at his husband, who, as always, is watching him with an intense stare and a small smile, as if he can't quite believe Bilbo is real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I don't know. I try my best. Don't you have any fairytales with good endings?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thorin shuffles Bilbo closer to him. "We do, and you've heard many, and read even more, I'm sure." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(This is true. Ever since being formally allowed to learn Khuzdul, Bilbo dove headfirst into all kinds of accounts of Dwarven history, fully aware that he might be one of the few outsiders allowed the honor.) Thorin looks at him again, and that little smile fades. "But there aren't many that provide solace in dark times. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Quest for Erebor</span>
  </em>
  <span> might be a rare exception."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But that's not a fairytale," Bilbo lifts an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It might as well be one, at this point," Bofur muses. "You have the king, the dragon, the battle.. Prime fairytale material," he grins. "And the love story, of course," he winks at Bilbo. Then his face gets serious as if lost in thought. "But there is a tale about solace in dark times. Perhaps it is not for me to tell, though." He casts Thorin a significant look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thorin seems to understand what Bofur means but is none too happy about it. "Solace in dark times, indeed. I never quite liked that one. But if that is your wish -?" he eyes Bilbo, who nods enthusiastically (listening to Thorin talk or sing or play his harp is one of his favorite past times, somewhere up there with braiding his husband's hair and kissing him breathless) "Very well, then." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lays a kiss on the crown of Bilbo's hair, stands up, and crossing over to his harp, starts tuning the instrument. Bilbo quickly relocates on a pillow next to the harp, and the rest of the Company shuffle closer as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is one of the old fairytales, not one you'll find in history books or great songs. It isn't one told to children or lovesick younglings to lift up their spirit, but rather to the old, who have been hurt and seek revenge. And, which I suspect you'll find rather surprising, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ekûnê,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Thorin smiles at him, and Bilbo's heart just about melts, "it has Elves in it. And only one of them is evil."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits until everyone has quieted, and then begins. "It is a tale about the finest harp ever made." He strums a chord, letting it float in the room until all sound disappears. Then he picks up a melody, something much more intricate and delicate than what Bilbo is used to from Dwarven music. It is faster, while still having a familiar, steady drum, kept by Thorin's foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The faces of the Company around him spark with recognition, and by the time Thorin starts singing, almost all are mouthing the lyrics along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fairytale is in Khuzdul, of course, and it has a characteristic refrain, one that is sure to stick in Bilbo's mind for a long time. Bilbo still isn't completely fluent in the language, and this seems to be some very old version of it because he barely manages to put together the meaning. After a bit, he gives up on trying to translate and rather lets the music wash over him like a river of melody, the strike of a hammer upon a sword, and the sure step of feet in a dance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song ends on another lonely chord, and the Dwarves nod their heads in appreciation of Thorin's skill. Bilbo, however, looks up at his husband. "The music was beautiful, as always," he says. "But I'm afraid I didn't quite catch the story..." he trails off, unsure. He tilts his head, and Thorin understands. They have a language of their own, composed entirely of lifted eyebrows, slow blinking, and tilted heads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They relocate back to the wide armchair, Bilbo situating himself as close to his Dwarf as possible. The rest of the Company have dissolved into smaller groups, chatting among themselves, allowing the two of them some illusion of quiet. Thorin looks into the fireplace, dark blue eyes shining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is a tale that happened long ago, and no one knows the true names of the characters, not anymore," he begins. "Once upon a time, in a mountain around which a wild river flowed, there lived two incredibly musically talented Dwarves. The older sister was a carpenter and a carver, and she had made many beautiful fiddles and harps. The younger had nimble fingers and played many instruments, and they were quite content with their life. However, one night, they both had the same dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They dreamed of a different pair of sisters - Elven maidens from the forest. While the younger one was sweet and naïve, the older one was bitter and petty. A suitor had been courting both of them, as if he couldn't decide his mind. The older Elf-sister decided she needed to take matters into her own hands. When they went on a walk by the running stream of the river, she pushed her younger sibling into the water and refused to help as she drowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Dwarf sisters woke in the morning outraged at the younger sister’s behalf, and because they knew the value of dreams, they went down to the river that day. And as they approached, they saw a once-beautiful but now dead Elf, and they both knew her to be the younger sister from their dream. Despite their distrust of Elves, they decided to bury her with all the honors, because they felt it was one of the only things they could do for her after her terrible death. However, the older sister had an idea. She took the breastbone from the Elf’s mangled body, and a few strands of her long, golden hair. After they buried the Elf in secret, she locked herself in her craft room. Her younger sister worried, but she knew better than to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After two weeks, the older sister emerged, with the most beautiful harp ever made. It had a white frame and golden strings, and all who saw it said that it looked Elvish, even if it was made by a Dwarf. When the younger sister played it, everyone was suddenly enthralled and stopped whatever they were doing to listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sisters and their harp quickly became famous throughout all the lands and were invited to play at all kinds of ceremonies, if only to give the company a brief moment of absolute, neverending calm that the harp’s song provided. And before long, an Elf-lady invited them to play at one of their celebrations. It was a great honor back then, for a Dwarf to be invited to an Elven feast,” Thorin muses, pausing his story briefly. Bilbo suppresses the urge to remind him that Thranduil had repeatedly invited the two of them for feasts in the Woodland kingdom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When they arrived, the Dwarf-sisters froze. The lady that had invited them was the older sister from their dream. They hadn’t told anybody about the origin of the harp - perhaps this was the Valar’s way of letting the drowned sister have her revenge. When the younger Dwarf sister plucked the strings for the first time, everyone at the feast melted at the beautiful melody – everyone except the hostess. Her face screwed up in horror, as the harp started playing by itself – such was the magic of sisterhood – and telling all present the terrible tale of a jealous murder. The Elf-lady tried to flee but was stopped by her husband, who was the Elf that couldn’t decide between the two sisters way back at the beginning. She refused to answer his concerned questions and instead ripped the harp from the Dwarf’s hands. In the height of madness and malice, she smashed the beautiful harp on the marble floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But because the harp was magical, made and played by sisters who knew the truth, it gave out one last chord before it shattered. And with that sound, the older Elf-sister fell to the ground, cold and dead,” Thorin goes quiet. Bilbo realizes that the others must have been listening in too, because everyone else nods along, confirming the tale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The story lets us believe that perhaps our hurts shall find a way to be avenged, and that family is only as strong as our love is,” explains Balin to no one in particular, but Bilbo is grateful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, it was beautiful,” he says, and lays his hand over Thorin's. His husband is looking into the flames once more, and only after a moment seems to shake himself out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Company bids their good nights soon afterward, each disappearing into their rooms in the royal wing. It isn’t until they’re lying in bed, Thorin’s hand over his chest, that Bilbo remembers his husband’s apprehension of the tale. “Thorin?” he asks hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said that you don’t like the fairytale much, may I ask why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thorin’s eyes open and his hand lifts up to card through Bilbo’s hair. “I always felt that the Elf who courted the two sisters at once was never reprimanded for it. What the sister did was inexcusable, but he wasn’t without fault, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bilbo thinks about it, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, in a way, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> punished for it.” He turns to Thorin. “He couldn’t decide, and in the end, they both died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thorin is quiet again, and Bilbo wonders if he’s fallen asleep, but he speaks after a short while. “Perhaps the only thing to learn from this story, then, is that Dwarves have infinitely more sense than Elves.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bilbo just shoots him an exasperated look, but there’s mirth in the way Thorin’s eyes glint in the light of the last candle. “Just don’t go courting any other Hobbits, then,” he muses, half asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ekûnê, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I won’t.”   </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading and please comment if you liked it! </p><p>follow me on <a href="https://mandolinearts.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> or <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/mandolinearts">twitter</a>, i'm more of an artist than a writer.<br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPbCi7eY5TM">this is the song that the fairytale is based on</a><br/>ekûnê - khuzdul for my One, as translated by <a href="https://gentlemanharry.tumblr.com/post/120348439157/my-one-a-translation">gentlemanharry</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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